Heir of Violence
by Cerasinus
Summary: After the events of Slade Wilson's siege, a single note changes the fate of Earth-1 forever. Malcolm Merlyn adjusts his plans completely, and risks the ire of the League by returning to Starling City seemingly to give Oliver Queen a fresh hell. As his life falls apart, Oliver's life - and fate - is changed forever by one discovery... Part 1 of the Heir Trilogy
1. Preface

Here we go again.

For those new to my writing, or those that have understandably forgotten, I like to keep these openings short and informative. I post these seconds before the first actual chapter, so if this isn't your cup of tea and you care not for potential trigger warnings, move right on ahead.

This story will be themed around tragedy and a certain vigilante's identity crisis, so be warned: this can and will be a violent tale. In the sequel I will explore some different themes, so look forward to that or don't – either way I will do my best to give this first part an… Interesting end.

Additionally, this story is one of (hopefully) many of a series entitled the "Arrowverse Multiverse", a series of stories presented as alternate timelines to Earth-1, and potentially other earths as well.

So, let's begin.


	2. The Discovery

_The Discovery _

A young woman walked alone through a dark hallway – only a few flickering lights from far-away places letting her see where she stepped.

She was dressed as simply as possible; A pair of somewhat tight pants and a grey tank top. She wore no shoes, letting what sharp things she had already passed cut her feet as she moved, slowly and deliberately.

For a short time the only threats to this young woman were the occasional shards of glass that sliced her feet. But when she reached the end of the dimly-lit hallway, that changed.

A fast-moving bolt flew at her head and she felt the wind push past her cheek when she moved instinctively at the last second. The woman watched the bolt enter the wall with a smile on her face.

The hallway that continued to her right followed that same pattern – automatic crossbows hidden in dark places and bolts flying _just_ past her body. Glass, tripwires, and bolts. This was her life in those few minutes, before this trial ended.

She finally reached the true end of the almost warping hallways. A door in the Shōji design, which is to say a door made of paper and bamboo, marked the end for her.

She opened that door, knelt down low, and present her prize – a strange wooden figure from the other side of the house. A more masculine hand reached down and took it from her.

Malcolm Merlyn smiled.

"Well done, my daughter."

Thea Queen, bastard half-daughter of Moira Queen and the infamous mass-murderer standing in front of her, smiled and stood back up.

"Thanks, dad."

"Let me see your hands." He said, and she presented her palms obediently. Calloused thought they were, they were healing. Malcolm nodded to himself, and closed her hands with his own.

He took a moment to look her over – for she had changed greatly since Slade Wilson's little attack on Starling. Thea was far more athletic, for one, not to mention far stronger. He had cut her hair short, and her outfits had changed. What was once fancy nightclub numbers was now as practical as possible.

His observation complete, Malcolm motioned for Thea to join him to sit down on the series of simple mats that were next to a massive pile of papers and parchment.

This was the other side of her training. Understanding, obtaining and decoding information was key to the life she had now chosen. Like everyday, they both sat cross-legged and went through hundreds of papers, deciding what was useful, and/or reliable.

It was a day the same as any other. Until Malcolm read a small, and seemingly innocuous piece of parchment.

"_**M**, _

_The dual Queens belong on the same side of the aisle._

_Regards,_

_**T**"_

The architect of The Undertaking, killer of hundreds, fazed by almost nothing, froze.

"I'll be back in a few days." He muttered, and charged out of the room, and indeed the house, paying little to no attention to Thea's incredulous questions as he moved.

By ten minutes, he was out of town. By forty he was leaving the country. To Malcolm Merlyn, his daughter's training had suddenly become far less important – at least if that note was true.

_***Heir***_

Oliver Queen, since that miserable night on the _Queen's Gambit_, had never really used the word 'happy'. At least… Not for himself.

Depressing as that was, it was the reality he lived in. That still hadn't changed. But he was admittedly a little… Closer to a happier place than he could recall being in for a long, long time.

Slade Wilson, his _brother_, was still alive. That _mattered_. Oliver knew that he would never be like those file on the Justice Society he had read in A.R.G.U.S's files. He'd never be some colourful superhero saving the day with a smile on his face. But he could try to save Slade's soul, try to protect the city he cared for.

And that was _important_.

Then, in the comm in his ear, he heard the sounds of John Diggle, another of his brothers, talking. An uncharacteristic smirk graced his face.

"… _Oliver? You copy?"_

Oliver Queen, or as he was now, The Arrow, stood from his perch atop a tall skyscraper, his bow ready at his side.

"I copy, Dig." The Arrow watched as, far below, an armoured and pitch-black van sped down a highway. "This might sound… Oddly optimistic, but this should be relatively easy."

He heard a dry chuckle from his comms. _"Welcome to the world other people live in, Oliver."_

Without responding verbally, The Arrow reached into his quiver and fired a grapnel arrow in a downward arc, towards a building far enough away from the moving van to give the vigilante enough time to move.

He placed his bow atop the tough cable, and without a moment of hesitation he dove off the ninety-story skyscraper.

The force of the wind almost pushed his hood off as he went down, but he landed at the perfect time – his boots hitting the top of the van with a _thud_.

The infamous vigilante felt like humming a tune as he worked – but he didn't, he wasn't _insane_.

The Arrow held onto the top of the van as he swung down, slamming a small satchel onto the back of the van. He pulled himself back onto the roof, braced, and pressed the button on the detonator he now held.

The explosion was dramatic but focused. It blew both 'secure' doors off their respective hinges and flew onto the highway.

"_Backup's gonna be there in less than two minutes."_ Diggle warned, and The Arrow grunted in response.

He swung down into the interior of the van, calmly dodging a gunshot from the bewildered-looking mercenary, and slamming his head into the well-armoured crate. The crate that was The Arrow's objective. He grabbed the man, and threw him out of the van, where he landed on the road with a bit of a _crunch_ sound.

He was still alive.

Probably.

Seventy percent chance.

Potential fatality aside, The Arrow had an objective; the _very_ dangerous cargo within that crate. They only had a small window to obtain this cargo, keep it out of the hands of some very bad people, and find a way to extract it themselves.

Needless to say, they hadn't had much time to plan.

The Arrow mused to himself for a moment. "Dig, how armoured _are_ the cargo crates that the military uses?"

Dig replied after a brief moment. _"… Pretty armoured."_

Oliver shrugged. "Okay then."

With one strong kick, the vigilante shoved the cargo out of the van, and it almost bounced through sheer force before grounding itself with a _very _loud thudding sound.

Two black cars, the backup they had been expecting, swerved desperately to avoid the crate on the road as they arrived on the scene. One smashed halfway through a barrier before stopping, and the other kept pace.

The Arrow let a shot off in the active car's engine block, and it swerved to the side. Civilian traffic, at first barely a factor, was now quickly catching up.

Oliver heard Diggle mutter a few curse words, before the distinctive sound of a sniper rifle could be heard.

The backup goons were trying to shoot The Arrow as he was quickly vanishing from their view, but they stopped very quickly as bullets went into knees.

The Arrow leapt onto the roof once more, smashed an arm through the driver-side window, pulled the driver out of the window and slammed him onto the roof of the van. With one punch, he knocked the man out.

"_The cops are getting close."_ Dig warned, and Oliver could hear him packing away his gear.

"Got it." Oliver grunted. His 'relationship' with the police had greatly improved since Slade's attack, but he didn't feel like testing the waters tonight.

The Starling City Vigilante looked over his work. The cargo would be picked up by the cops, hopefully the less corrupt ones, and be secured for at least some time until someone _else_ pulled off another heist. But, by corrupt cops or clever criminals, he'd be back to set things right.

And _that_ was the justice that Oliver knew Starling City could have. It was slow, it was hard. But it was justice.

And that was goddamn satisfying.

_***Heir***_

"Well emergency mission aside, we've been doing pretty well this month." Diggle said, clapping his hand over Oliver's shoulder as he walked past him.

"We've… Made progress." Oliver admitted. He was stood by a table in their new-and-improved base, sorting through his hardcopy files as Felicity did the same digitally. He catalogued the series of military documents they had 'borrowed' from various sources and put them in his dossier – the compilation of all of Oliver's intel. He hoped that no-one else would ever have to see this dossier, for he had a plan. Upon his death, in specific circumstances, copies of his intel would be sent to five people.

"Come on, Oliver." Felicity Smoak, I.T department of Starling City's vigilantes, chimed in from her spot by the series of monitors. "We've kicked crime's ass!"

"Crime doesn't die, it evolves." Oliver retorted. "But… You're right. We should celebrate a little."

"Call the presses, Oliver Queen's being positive." Diggle said, sarcasm laced in his tone. He pulled open a lower drawer – four down, beneath the one that held several pistols – and showed off the half-full bottle of Russian Vodka. "This celebration enough?"

Oliver let a smile grace his face, and accepted the glass offered to him.

The toast was quick but fun. A simple toast of 'to stopping the bad guys', and patting Felicity's back when she struggled with the strong drink, and then they were headed out the secret entrance into the alley behind Verdant.

The three still had lives to live. Diggle had Lyla, Felicity had to work out her life now that Queen Consolidated was in a state of limbo post-Isabel Rochev, and Oliver still had to put his funds together from his multiple private bank accounts in his efforts to re-acquire his family's business. Not to mention he had to keep training Roy…

The three chatted amicably on their way out, even getting a chuckle out of Oliver.

Everything was fine until they reached the parking lot of Verdant (which was still being rebuilt).

Then everything went sideways.

Felicity was entering the passenger side of Diggle's car when it started. Oliver detected it first – the subtle round of a series of silenced rounds going off.

"GET DOWN!"

Oliver barely had time to yell before the bullets went past their heads, missing them both by inches at best. Oliver slid behind Dig's car as more bullets came. The bulletproof car was all that kept them alive.

Oliver reached below the back of the car and passed his brother in arms the pistol hidden there.

"Danger close, Oliver." Diggle gasped, out of breath. "Felicity, stay behind the car."

Oliver nodded, his eyes moving across to the closest street. The trajectory of the bullets, or at least what Oliver could make of it in the night, had probably come from somewhere around there. He stared at his car, a few parking spots away, and made a decision.

"Cover me." He ordered, and as bullets from Diggle's gun went off he ran once more – getting behind his car without even a scratch. Like Dig's car, everything was as bulletproof as humanely possible.

Oliver saw that Dig was looking in his direction and jerked his head in the direction of his own car, and he nodded in understanding.

The bodyguard slid his own gun across the concrete to Oliver, and the archer grabbed it and used one hand to provide his own covering fire for the _vital_ few seconds he needed. He made it into the back of his own car, and climbed into the front.

Oliver gritted his teeth then put the keys in the ignition, and slammed the accelerator – turning _towards _the gunfire, bullets stopping inches from Oliver's face. He felt the car go faster, and faster, and faster-

The car slammed into something _organic_, and Oliver saw with the headlights of his car that he had slammed into three masked men with silenced automatic weapons, and he heard the sickening _crunch_ of bones being crushed.

The distraction was enough for Oliver to burst out of his car and fire a round into one man's head. Blood and brains splattered onto Oliver as he heard the _click_ of the pistol. He let the magazine fall into his other hand as he _charged_ towards the last two men.

He threw the magazine at one's head as he slammed the pistol into the other's face, with enough force to push the man onto the street pavement. Oliver beat the man's face in until it was a bloody pulp, then beat it some more, as Diggle sounded like he was breaking the other man's hand.

"WHO SENT YOU?!" Oliver shouted, letting off two more punches. The man screamed and spat out blood, but before he could reply-

Three silenced bullets entered the air, and for the briefest moment Oliver didn't know where they went.

After that moment, everything changed.

He saw Diggle first. One bullet leaking out blood from his upper chest, as the bodyguard fell to his knees, barely breathing.

Then he looked to Felicity.

Two bullets impacted her, both into her chest. Blood spurted from her as she fell.

Oliver ran to his friends, sparing a glance at the gunman – already dying from Oliver's car, no longer a threat. He passed by Diggle, who kept enough pressure on his wound to survive _for now_, but Felicity…

She couldn't really breathe. Blood poured from her wounds and her mouth as she laid on the cold pavement.

"Felicity..."

"Oliver..." Was all she could choke out, before it ended for her. She breathed her last in pain and the cold of the night. Her hand fell from where it was trying to touch Oliver's face, and then she was gone.

He looked over the scene. In the dark night, seven laid dead as another struggled to keep living.

Oliver Queen looked from the dead corpse of Felicity Smoak and the almost-corpse of John Diggle, and let out a single, inhuman scream into the night sky.

**A/N: The next chapter is entitled "The Key To Vengeance" **

**I hope everyone enjoyed this opening chapter, please leave your feedback and comments if you wish, it has the magic power to make me write faster.**

**See you soon...**


	3. The Key to Vengeance

_The Key to Vengeance_

"_911, what's your emergency?" _

"_I think someone's breaking into my house!"_

"_911, what's your emergency?"_

"_A bunch of birds are shitting on my car!"_

"_911, what's your emergency?"_

"_Thank god, I can hear someone screaming outside my apartment… And I heard some-something sounding like a car accident.."_

"_What's your address, ma'am?"_

"_129 Oak Avenue. Please come quickly."_

"_Sending a car out now, ma'am. Please stay on the line."_

_***Heir of Violence*** _

The scene was a very brutal one when the officers arrived.

Six men dressed in dark clothing and wearing balaclavas were deceased. Some seemed almost crushed by the nearby car that held bullets in its frame, while one's brains were blown out, and the other seemed to have bled to death after a severe beating to the face.

A Caucasian man was putting pressure on an African-American man's chest wound, and one officer immediately ran to help as the other called for backup – both more officers and at least one ambulance.

There was one last corpse. A Caucasian woman with blonde hair and two bullets to the chest was on the pavement one officer walked past, and the officer on the radio felt like throwing up at the sight of the scene in front of him.

Time passed.

Paramedics took the bleeding man into an ambulance. He was identified as John Diggle by the surviving man – who himself was identified as Oliver Queen.

More police arrived, and over the next few hours the events preceding the bodies on the ground were pieced together. Oliver Queen muttered various confirmations to their questions. He credited his bodyguard for their survival – glancing over where the Blonde's body was frequently.

Within the next half hour a detective (Joey Caston, a 39 year old man with greying hair and a tired face) arrived on the scene, and shook his head in sadness at the sight before him.

"Any clue who did this?" He asked the nearest officer, who shook his head.

"No clue. Queen can't think of anyone who'd target him like this. But we got a call. The Cap's headed here himself."

The Detective nodded. "Yeah, I heard they go back a long way."

They both turned their heads as the sounds of a new car arriving grabbed their attention.

"Speak of the devil and all that." The officer muttered.

Quentin Lance looked different in the long months since Slade Wilson's attack. His hair was shorter and had started to grey, and something in his eyes showed a man who had seen much, perhaps too much, in his life. But he still a damn good cop, and now a damn good captain.

He spared a nod to his fellow cops as he moved to Oliver, who slightly raised his head at the sight of Quentin's familiar face.

Detective and officer alike watched as the two talked, far too quietly for them to hear.

"I wonder what they're talking about..." The officer murmured. "What do you say to someone who just went through this?"

_***Heir of Violence***_

Oliver couldn't help it – he croaked out the first thing on his mind as Quentin knelt down to meet his eye, as he sat in the back of an ambulance.

"Felicity's dead."

The Captain took a step back. "… Jesus fucking Christ."

"Diggle might survive. Might." Oliver continued, his voice hollow and quiet. "I kept pressure as long as I could."

Quentin took a breath. "I'm so sorry, Oliver. But we'll find these guys-"

"It doesn't matter. I'll find them."

"I don't know what you mean.."

Oliver's mouth turn up slightly, a smile not of joy but of great pain. His eyes, cold and dead, looked right into Quentin's.

"I think you know _exactly_ what I mean."

With that, Oliver stood and left. Quentin didn't try to stop him, but pulled out his phone instead.

"Laurel, call me back as soon as you get this, alright? It's about Oliver. Something.. Really bad happened, and I'm not sure if I can stop what he's about to do."

_***Heir of Violence***_

Malcolm Merlyn couldn't risk arriving in Starling via air, private jet or otherwise. Ancient order thought they were, the League of Assassins were smart enough to track that kind of travel. Besides, he couldn't risk ARGUS finding him at an inconvenient time.

So he travelled by boat, and then by land, smuggling himself aboard a small vessel then driving the rest of the way. He had an identity ready, just in case (John Lillard, executive from Central City visiting on business), but would prefer to avoid unwanted altercations entirely.

Malcolm smiled when he finally saw that distinctive sign of _"Welcome to Starling City" _after a long journey.

He drove right in, and headed straight for the Glades.

_***Heir of Violence***_

The foundry already felt so empty without them in it.

Oliver traced his hands over the table where Dig had laid his weaponry down meticulously, and the monitors that Felicity was almost always operating.

He moved to his bow, staring at the technological features that made it obvious of its customised nature – a far reach from the bows he used during those five years in hell.

He held it in his hands, pulled back the bowstring and listened to the engineering that assisted the pull.

Then he threw it across the room.

It made a loud sound as it hit the floor, but Oliver ignored it as he walked to a dark corner of his lair, nearby the waterfall. He grabbed the sledgehammer that was kept there with two hands and moved to the spot behind where the bow was kept.

He slammed the sledgehammer down onto the concrete floor, again and again, feeling the pain in his arms as chunks of concrete flew out, until finally he saw it – the wooden crate that he brought back from Lian Yu. The one that honoured those he lost there, those that taught him the art of the bow. Those he lost. *_**1***_

The pulled the crate from its nest and opened it. There was less than the days and nights of his first year back, but there was still a small amount of that strange herb from the island, three of his first arrows he kept to this day, and his recurve bow – his best bow. It wasn't the 'perfect' custom job, it was always this bow. Gifted to him by Talia, first owned by Yao Fie, the best simply from its origin alone.

He held it in his hands, examining every scratch and mark, and the long line showing where it had once been snapped in two – repaired by Oliver himself after The Undertaking.

He moved to the glass case that held his outfit and stared at the hood and the mask that Barry Allend had gifted him. He only took the hood, and didn't open the case, simply smashing his fist through it. He left the rest there.

Everything else was from after the Island, touched by others. But Oliver kept his original outfit in another secret alcove. He retrieved it and put it one in something close to reverence. It felt more comfortable than the newer one, perhaps only in his mind.

Oliver Queen pulled that beautiful hood over his head, and became something else.

Not The Arrow, but _The Hood_.

He activated the softball machine with his foot and eight softballs flew into the air. Then they were all skewered into the wall by eight arrows. He looked at the arrows with a kind of bitter satisfaction. He was always better as The Hood than The Arrow… Or Oliver Queen.

"Fundamentals..." He whispered to himself, and walked out of the Foundry.

Malcolm Merlyn watched from the shadows, and smiled.

_***Heir to Violence***_

There were times where your phone ringing was just the _worst._

Like when you're busy beating up a would-be mugger.

Laurel Lance was using a baton to slam a gun out of the hands of that mugger when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket – and she made the mistake of looking down at her pocket as it did so.

The mugger took that opportunity to land a solid punch to her face, and she felt the mask slip off of her face as pain erupted. She cursed under her breath as she hit him in the stomach with the baton in her other hand, with _just_ enough force to push him back, hiding her face with her other hand.

She went of the offensive and forced herself to ignore the pain as she did, using a firm right hook and an uncomfortable headbutt to disorient him, not to mention herself a little. She finished her attack with her two batons to beat in his face.

From what she could tell, Laurel had left the man with a broken nose and at least a few cracked ribs. She left him groaning in pain and bleeding in that alley as she walked away, feeling that her nose had started to bleed. She groaned in irritation as she picked up her mask and unlocked her phone.

"_Laurel, call me back as soon as you get this, alright? It's about Oliver. Something.. Really bad happened, and I'm not sure if I can stop what he's about to do."_

She swore again, much louder this time, and pulled out her bag that she hid in a different alley nearby. She pulled off her sister's jacket, and placed it and her mask in the bag. She reached in and retrieved her concealer, using the 'selfie mode' of her phone to identify the worst evidence of her fight and applied the makeup to it.

With her shirt under the jacket, and the jacket removed, she had effectively stopped looking like a vigilante (or some king of BDSM enthusiast). She had a grey top with some company logo on it, and her black pants and boots worked for both personas. Adding a cap over her hair, Laurel felt confident that she could get away with the dual lives she had apparently chosen.

Laurel Lance walked under the flickering streetlights on her way home and called her father.

"Dad?"

"_Laurel. Can we talk at your place?"_

"Okay." She hesitated. "I was, uh, working late. I'll be at my apartment soon."

"_Alright. I'll be there when I can."_

Laurel sighed in relief as she hung up – thank god he bought the work excuse – and quickly made her way home.

_***Heir to Violence***_

As Laurel Lance walked home, another made his way out of his Lair, and into the darkness of the very early morning.

The Hood ran from building to building, for he had forgone his bike as well. Another things _not_ from his Purgatory.

He applied every movement skill he had ever been taught – _Yoa Fie, Shado, Slade, ARGUS, Talia_ – to sprint through the city at great speed.

He reached his first target quickly. A weapons dealer he had his eye on for some time. For a moment he remembered what had just happened to his friends, then made his move.

The arms dealer sat on a couch in a _very_ expensive hotel, watching TV with a bear in one hand and a remote in the other. The room was massive, with very comfortable furniture, large windows, and a _massive _minibar.

The dealer was watching some rerun of an old sitcom, and didn't see the vigilante coming.

The Hood fired a grapnel arrows above one of the windows and zip-lined down – smashing through the glass. The dealer stood up in shock and went for the gun that sat next to him on the couch. He raised to to fire, then screamed a second later as an arrow into his hand and a bullet went into the floor.

The Hood was a blur of speed, using the momentum from the zipline to slide across the room. He rose to his feet and grabbed the other man by the neck with one hand. He moved the arms dealer to the smashed window.

The man screamed as the vigilante held him out of the window by his shirt collar. From this height you could barely see the road beneath the tall building. But you could feel the strong winds.

The Hood leaned close to his ear, voice modulater active. _"Did you sell silenced weapons to a small group of masked men?!"_

"I.. I, uh-"

"_DID YOU OR DIDN'T YOU?!"_

"You're describing that five different groups I've dealt with in the past-"

The Hood pushed him a bit further out the window.

"_FINE!_ I sold some weapons to some masked guys, but it was a large purchase!"

"_TELL ME SOMETHING USEFUL!"_

"The guy who played middleman, he's a local operator named Kevin O'Leary!"

The Hood felt that bitter smile return, and turned the modulater off.

"Thank you."

Before the weapons dealer could reply, The Hood threw him out the window. He screamed on the way down, but the vigilante was already leaving.

_***Heir to Violence***_

Kevin O'Leary might be an infamous criminal and mercenary, but he lived in the suburban district of Starling like a 30-something husband who worked in retail. It was a good cover, and kept him off the radar of the police as he lead a group of mercenaries. According to his files, O'Leary hadn't pulled anything off in the past couple years.

It was a lovely two-story house, white picket fence and all, payed for with the lives of many. By the time The Hood had arrived at O'Leary's address the sun was rising, and on any other night he'd be back in the Foundry. Fear worked best in the dark.

But this was different. This was _revenge_.

He didn't sneak in or even survey the scene. He fired an explosive arrow by the door and it blew into tiny pieces. He charged into the house, bow at the ready. The Hood could hear the sound of quick-moving footsteps above and charged upstairs.

He was reaching the top of the stairs when a shotgun blast missed his head by half an inch, and he cursed his bullheadedness as he fired three arrows in the direction of where the blast came from, and heard a man curse as the third arrow nicked his arm.

"_Kevin O'Leary." _The Hood growled, his voice modulated and harsh. _"You have failed. This. CITY_!"

He heard a dry chuckle and a cabinet being opened as the vigilante made his way down the hallway the man had run down.

"Starling City's resident vigilante, I assume?" O'Leary's voice was older than his own and lighthearted. "Why this feels almost like an honour."

The Hood sneered. He kicked down the bedroom doors he tracked O'Leary to, only to duck back into the hallway as bullets flew at him.

"_You're only making this more painful."_

O'Leary laughed. "Oh, I'm aware of your reputation."

The man paused to let off another series of bullets from what sounded like an assault rifle.

"After all, you beat my employer. But I should at least give you a _challenge_."

The Hood growled, readied himself, and made his move.

He burst out of cover and fired a flashbang arrow into the bedroom. It went off and The Hood rolled into the room, grabbed the assault rifle from his adversary's hands, and threw it to the side.

O'Leary chuckled again and with surprising speed pulled out a switchblade from his back pocket. He swung it twice at The Hood and narrowly missed both times as the vigilante dodge away. O'Leary moved forward with more swings of his blade, and The Hood fell onto his back as he dodged.

O'Leary stood above the vigilante with confidence, but a second later his knees buckled as The Hood kicked with force. He fell, and the vigilante pinned him to the floor with his bow to his neck.

"_Who. The fuck. Is your employer."_ He sneered.

O'Leary laughed, dry and painful as it was while pinned. "Your first… Great enemy, I suppose. The one that sent me after Queen."

"_WHO?!"_

O'Leary grinned.

"Malcolm Merlyn."

The Hood felt his grip loosen in shock and his opponent took advantage – pushing him back and running out the door. The vigilante gave chase, only to find O'Leary standing by the stairs with a gun he held to his own head.

"He's back for you." O'Leary said breathlessly, his grin wide.

Then he shot himself in the head, and his brains splattered across the wall.

_***1* This was an intentional reference to a very similar scene in the first John Wick movie, because it is an amazing scene.**_

_**Next Time: "Death, and Other Illusions". Malcolm's plan continues. Old enemies return. Oliver spirals.**_


End file.
